I leaned back in the chair and stared at the screen. Was there something going on here? Or was Blake reading more into the situation than there really was? Okay, the women had seemingly disappeared, but the only thing all four had in common was the fact that they'd spent time on this island. But a lot of single women came through this place, so why would these four be the ones to disappear?

And why would the kidnappers wait rather than doing the deed when the women were on holiday far from family, friends, and their regular schedule?

It made no sense.

I frowned and rechecked the file for dates. One a month for the last three months. Adrienne was again the aberration, disappearing two weeks after the third woman. But that itself meant nothing. People disappeared every day, every hour, the world over, and many of them for reasons other than foul play.

I clicked back to the photos, and again was struck by their similarities. And Adrienne's differences.

I tapped my fingers against the desk, intrigued despite myself. As much as I hated the man, I very much doubted Blake was crying wolf. Not when his own get was involved. Something had to be happening, no matter how unlikely it seemed from reading these files.

I needed to question the parents of the other women, Blake might have questioned one lot already, but he had an emotional investment in this whole mess and probably wouldn't have been listening to the responses with a critical ear. He was a tyrant, not an investigator.

I closed the file and unhooked my phone from the USB port. What next? I scrubbed my hand across my eyes, then looked down at the time. Nearly four. I should try to sleep, but adrenaline was still pumping through my veins and the itch to move, to dance, skittered across my skin. And not human-type dancing, either.

While wolf clubs weren't permitted on the island, they did have twenty-four-hour bars, complete with music—which, at this hour, was little more than an old man at a piano. There probably wasn't going to be many people there right now, but going to the bar was a better option than going back to my villa and drinking alone. At the very least, I could talk to the bartender. He might even recognize the picture Blake had sent me.

I shoved my phone into my pocket, then pushed back my chair and rose. My footsteps echoed as I walked across the empty lobby, but the concierge still didn't come out to greet me. Maybe he was asleep in his little back office.

Soft piano music greeted me as I entered the semi-darkness of the bar, but underneath the tinkling rode the murmur of conversation. I stopped on the top step, allowing my eyes to adjust as I looked around. This particular bar was one of the smaller ones, but it was right on the beach and had one whole wall that could be opened up. On nice nights, patrons could spread out into the sand or stroll through the waves. Tonight that wall was closed—probably because the weathermen were predicting storms—but the floor-to-ceiling windows offered little obstruction to the view. Surprisingly, there were at least a dozen people in here. Most of them were couples who cuddled in the cozy booths that ringed the remaining walls, but there were at least five others who sat by themselves and sipped drinks. Probably staff who'd just finished, I thought, as I clattered down the stairs and walked across to the bar. They had that "over-it-all" expression that workers around the world seemed to get after a long shift.

The bartender wandered down from the other end and gave me a somewhat bored-looking smile—his usual expression, from what I'd seen in my time here on the island. "You're up late, Ms. Jenson."

"Got an emergency phone call from a relative's mother," I said, fudging the truth only a little. "Apparently my cousin hasn't reported in for more than a week, and the mother is panicking."

"Mothers tend to do that," he said. "Would you like a drink?"

"Just a beer, thanks." I waited until he poured the drink, then added, "My cousin apparently met a man here. Mom seems to think if I find that man, I'll find her daughter."

"You didn't know she was here?"

I shook my head, then crossed my arms and leaned casually against his bar. With the low cut of my T-shirt, more than a small amount of breast was now on show. His gaze almost instantly wandered down. I might not want to play with him, but I wasn't above using a few tricks to keep his thoughts on my assets rather than making sense of what I was saying.

"He was a tall, blond man with gray eyes and big ears. His name was Jim. Jimmy Denton, I think."

He frowned, and his gaze rose briefly to mine, "That's me."

I looked him up and down. He was portly and middle-aged, and while he seemed like a nice man, I just couldn't imagine someone as young and as vibrant as Adrienne wanting to dance with someone like this. Though stranger things did happen when the moon lust was upon us. "Ummm, you're neither blond nor big eared."

He grinned. It was the first real expression I'd seen. "Thankfully. You sure your friend's mom got the right name?"

Well, no, because I was relying on Blake's report, and who knew how accurate that was? I pressed a button on my phone and retrieved the drawing, "This is a sketch of the man she's looking for."

"No, sorry, I can't remember seeing anyone who looks like that working here." He shrugged, his gaze wandering back down to my boobs, "But I could ask around, see if he was one of the transient workers, if you'd like."

"That would be great." I pressed another button, and retrieved one of the photos of Adrienne. "This is my cousin." I showed him the picture. "Do you remember seeing her at all?"

He studied the photo for a moment, then nodded. "Now her I remember."

I raised my eyebrows at the amusement in his tone. "Why?"

"She was running around, asking all sorts of questions."

"What sort of questions?"

"About some former guests—several women and a man, if I remember correctly. Some of the staff thought she might have been a private investigator, others a reporter. She was taking notes and stuff."

"No one here saw the notes? Read anything she wrote by accident?"

"Not that I'm aware." He paused, then said, "You know Jared Donovan, don't you?"

I held back my smile. How could I not know Jared? The man had been trying to get into my pants for the last three days. And if ever there was a human who could tempt me to look past ingrained prejudices, then he was it. He was tall, blond and athletic, with long strong fingers and a totally wicked smile.

Had he been wolf, I would have jumped his bones in an instant. As it was, I flirted with him probably more than was wise but, as tempting as he was, I just couldn't get past the whole human thing enough to bed him.

"I know him," I said, after a sip of beer. "Why?"

"Well, he likes to chat up all the pretty girls, so there's a good chance he talked to your friend. He might know more than me. I've got a wife, like."

Meaning, obviously, that he was restricted in the bedding department, but Jared the serial flirt was not. Why did humans bother getting married if they resented the vows that kept them together and exclusive? It was a weird way of doing things. At least us wolves didn't have that worry—once we made a vow to the moon, we were together for life. No ifs, buts, or maybes. Which is why we had to be very, very sure we'd found our soul mate before we committed. "Is Jared. on tomorrow at all?"

"I think he's manning the research station boat."

"That service starts up at ten, doesn't it?"

When he nodded, I lowered a shield and reached out psychically, quickly sorting through his thoughts and memories, looking for secrets or lies. There were a couple of odd smudges, as if someone had deliberately blurred certain memories, but it might have been alcohol induced, too. The results tended to look the same.